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He nodded.
There’d been no night terrors this week, and I knew I had Vic to thank for that.
I went into the washroom, peed, brushed my teeth, gargled, and then ran a brush through my hair. I was twisting the strands into a knot when I heard the thud of boots on the porch.
I emerged from the bathroom just as Jackson threw open the front door. “Jackson, what did I tell you about….” Opening the door without looking to see who it was first.
I wasn’t an awestruck kind of girl. Yeah, I’d seen my share of handsome, rugged, beautiful men, but Vic was on a whole other level.
It wasn’t just his looks though. It was the total package. His untouchable air of confidence. His unwavering protectiveness. His honesty.
Vic’s eyes shifted from Jackson to lock on me.
“Morning,” I said in a scratchy morning voice.
He nodded.
He held tools and a drill in one hand, and what appeared to be a new deadbolt in the other. I was uncertain why Vic thought a new deadbolt was suddenly necessary when the lock worked perfectly fine, but it was his cabin and we were staying in it, so I wasn’t going to argue. He stepped inside and set his tools on the little table beside the coatrack.
“Are you having breakfast with us?” Jackson asked.
“No. Putting a deadbolt on the door, kid,” he said.
“Oh.” Jackson’s shoulders sagged with disappointment.
“Umm, you can stay if you want. For breakfast. Sundays are pancakes, so if you like pancakes, you can have them with us.”
Vic’s eyes met mine, and even though it was from across the room, I felt as if he was standing right in front of me. Or behind me. Okay, all around me.
His gaze slid down the front of my body, and I detected a slight upward pull at the corners of his mouth.
I looked down at myself, and realized I was wearing my midthigh-length red T-shirt that was three sizes too big and had “Too Cute” written at the top over a huge image of Baby Yoda.
“I like pancakes,” he said.
Jackson grinned and excitedly said something too fast to even be decipherable. Not that I was listening anyway. I was thinking about Vic having pancakes with us.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it was, because as much as he’d been around this week and had been texting, there’d been an undeniable distance.
And I knew it had something to do with the fact I hadn’t told him everything yet.
“Great,” I managed to squeak out. “Umm, do you want coffee?”
“Don’t drink it,” he replied.
Huh, he didn’t drink coffee. I didn’t know why, but learning these tidbits about Vic seemed big. Maybe because it was personal. Like he was handing me small slivers of himself.
That was ridiculous. He liked pancakes and he didn’t drink coffee. It wasn’t as if he was divulging his deepest, darkest secrets—like the ones I was going to have to spew all over him.
I walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard to pull out the tin of ground coffee. I filled the glass carafe with water and poured it into the percolator. I tried not to look at him, but I couldn’t help it because while Jackson was talking, Vic was handing him tools, which made Jackson grin.
I flicked the switch on the coffee maker, then went about making the pancake batter, trying not to look at them and failing miserably. Because seeing my son and Vic together made my heart swell for so many reasons. Reasons I didn’t want to contemplate right now.
Vic was kneeling on the floor while he measured a spot above the door handle, and Jackson stood beside him holding the drill with a big round attachment. Vic didn’t need Jackson’s help, and he probably didn’t want it, but he was letting him help anyway. Did Vic know how much Jackson needed this? To feel important. Worthy. Like he mattered.
Had Vic been abused or neglected as a child, and that was why he was being so good to Jackson? Or maybe it was because of his job and what he’d witnessed.
Vic said something too low for me to hear, but Jackson reached for a pair of safety glasses on the table. He passed them to Vic, and he slid them on.
